


Duty of Care

by Lustmord (OurPaleCompanion)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Next Generation (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurPaleCompanion/pseuds/Lustmord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For almost seven weeks, the Enterprise has sailed through space without rest or respite, and it's beginning to take its toll on the crew. Some of them are coping with it less well than others. But whenever you think you're alone, there's always someone willing to lend a helping hand...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duty of Care

_ Soft. Soft, and warm. It was how he always imagined her. Soft like her voice, warm like her eyes. Hot breath that licked raggedly over his lips as their bodies came together, and that intoxicating smell enveloping him.  _

 

_ “Wesley…” _

 

_ Yes. _

 

_ “Wesley…” _

 

_ Yes...  _

 

“Wesley!” Geordi shouted over the hum of the warp core, shocking the Acting Ensign back to attention.

 

“Sorry, Ge-Mr. LaForge, Sir!” Wesley stammered, clutching his tricorder to his chest as it leapt from his twitching fingers. LaForge frowned and shook his head.

 

“What are you doing up there, daydreaming?” He called to the upper level where Wesley looked out over the rail. “If you’re not going to give this your full attention, I’ll have Lynch relieve you and you can explain what’s got you so concerned to Commander Riker!” Wesley bowed his head, abashed. Geordi’s concerned scolding was worse than being yelled at; it was shaming.

 

“Sorry, Sir. I-I...I just had something on my mind. It’s...nothing, I’ll get back to...sorry, Sir.” Geordi nodded.

 

“Carry on, Ensign Crusher,” he replied, turning and walking away. Wesley relaxed as much as he dared, thankful for the rail that hid the erection protruding from his tight jumpsuit. He surreptitiously lowered his tricorder over his crotch and returned to his station, pressing his head against the panel in frustration. If only, he thought, his mind could overrule his body. Like-

 

A rush of blood engorged him to the point of discomfort as his thoughts wandered again. Wesley bent almost double, his forehead leaving a trail of sweat down the sheer black console as he groaned inaudibly. There was no way, he realised, that this was going to go away on its own. It had been 54 days since the Enterprise’s last shore leave - one crisis after another, from Romulan posturing and civil wars to extra-dimensional space-faring life forms trying to mate with the warp core, had had the crew on constant alert for weeks and no time for rest and relaxation. Wesley had been pulling double shifts for nearly all that time, and the last few weeks would have been unbearable for him without his frequent timeouts. 

 

“Are you alright, Ensign?” A nearby crewman asked, laying a hand on Wesley’s shoulder. He twisted away violently and the two locked eyes in an awkward moment. 

 

“Sorry, Morton,” Wesley said through a forced smile, clenching his thighs together, terrified he might be found out. “I...don’t feel too good, I...I think I’m gonna need five minutes,” he said, apologetically, as he made his way gingerly to his feet and backed away from his colleague, tricorder still pressed tightly into his groin. Morton nodded slowly, a glint of suspicion in his eye.

 

“Sure, Wesley,” he replied warily. “I’ll look over your station.”

 

“Thanks, “ Wesley gushed before turning and walking, decidedly pigeon-toed, to the turbolift. “Hold!” He cried out as the doors closed, concertinaing downwards and bracing himself against the wall. He let in a ragged breath and sighed loudly, his eyes drawn to the six-inch bulge in his uniform like a murderer’s to his victim’s resting place. He closed his eyes tightly and beat his head against the wall, cursing himself. Why was he having these thoughts? So vividly, so constantly, about a colleague and a friend? 

 

Her face filled his mind again and his hand instinctively slipped inside his pants, squeezing his length in response. “No!” He called out loud, whipping his hand away and clenching his fist until his knuckles turned white, then slamming it into the wall. Wesley let out a silent, shuddering sob. It was hopeless. He had to yield. 

 

“Computer,” he called out, “take me...take me somewhere empty.”

 

_ Please specify _ , the computer replied.

 

“Empty,” Wesley repeated. “And dark.”

 

* * *

 

Deanna Troi sat at Beverly Crusher’s desk while the doctor attended to a patient, drumming her fingers along the edge of her PADD. The information it displayed troubled Deanna every time she looked at it; she disliked the thought of any of the crew members she saw being in emotional turmoil, but in one at such a critical and vulnerable age, it was more than she could bear. She had hoped to keep it confidential, but with such a conflict of interests, she found herself duty-bound to present it to Doctor Crusher.

 

Beverly presently dismissed her patient and walked through to her office, where Troi greeted her with a smile. “I hope Mr. Hara’qq is well?” She asked, nodding towards the door where a green-skinned crewman rotated his hand gingerly. 

 

“Oh, nothing, just sprained his wrist. He  _ claims  _ he fell over, but there’s not a single scrape on him. I don’t have to be half-Betazoid to figure out how he really did it,” Beverly replied, smirking. “What can I say, when you go this long without shore leave, you’re bound to get a bit...tense.”

 

Troi forced a smile, beating down a rising blush. “Beverly, I’d like to talk to you about...one of my patients,” she began, hesitating at the last second. “This person has been showing signs of severe emotional distress due to our ongoing isolation and lack of respite.”

 

“Cabin fever,” Crusher interjected. “The oldest condition in the book on a ship. We’re lucky, really,” she continued as Troi bristled with frustration, “to have so many conveniences and distractions - it drove ancient sailors insane.”

 

“I feel,” Troi blurted out before Beverly could expound further, “that these ‘distractions’ are not really...helping, per se, this person with their problems. I’ve recommended time off, prescribed time on the holodeck, but it’s a deep-seated emotional imbalance.” Beverly cocked her head to one side.

 

“Then why are you coming to me, Deanna?” She inquired. “You’re the resident psychiatrist, that’s your specialty. I know as much about emotional imbalance as I do about dilithium crystals.” Troi swallowed hard.

 

“This patient is...a minor,” she continued. “And in such a sensitive case, I appreciate the input of a...fellow medical professional.” Troi inclined her head in respect, deeply grateful that she was the only mind-reader in the room. 

 

Beverly smiled gently. “I know what this is about, Deanna. It’s okay. You only need to say it.” Troi’s mouth opened and closed dumbly, flabbergasted at how Beverly could be familiar with the problem in question. “You want the opinion of a mother,” she whispered, almost triumphantly, leaning in towards her friend. Deanna’s chest swelled with sudden relief.

 

“Yes,” she effused, “yes, that’s just it.” Beverly nodded sagely.

 

“The best piece of advice I can give you is that kids need an arm around the shoulder a lot more than they need a boot up the rear,” she said. “Drop in on them, be there for them. No holodeck program can ever replace human interaction.”

 

Troi nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Beverly,” she said, getting to her feet. “I think that’s good advice. I’ll go and check on them now.” Beverly stood and saw her colleague to the door.

 

“Let me know how it goes!” She called after Troi as she scooted into the hallway. With her back to her friend, Troi blushed furiously. The  _ last  _ thing Beverly would want to know was how Deanna’s patient was coping. She stepped into the turbolift and touched her combadge. “Computer, local Wesley Crusher.”

 

_ Wesley Crusher is in storage room F-54, Deck 17. _

 

Troi’s eyes widened. What on earth was Wesley doing there?

 

“Take me to him.”

 

* * *

Troi’s footsteps echoed down the long, dark corridor. Storage Bay F was a part of the ship crew members rarely went to; the task of resupplying the Enterprise was left to a small army of robots which zipped and whirred their way along tracks in the walls and ceiling, darting into alcoves with a hiss of automatic doors and returning with pallets loaded with stock, destined for the service turbolifts. It was as close to isolation as one could get on a Galaxy-class starship, and if this is where Wesley had absconded to, then he was in even greater emotional turmoil than Troi had previously thought.

 

“Wesley?” she called out. Her voice carried on forever, disappearing down into the invisible depths of the storage bay. She doubled her stride, watching the room designations count upwards towards her goal. 50. 51. 52. She slowed, rearing up a little, suddenly nervous of what she might find. 53. She stopped and cleared her mind, reaching out empathic tendrils to try and gauge Wesley’s emotional state.

 

Troi gulped hard as a wave of hot, painful emotions flooded her mind. Fear. Confusion. Self-loathing. But there was something that hovered above them all, something that overwrote all others and drove Wesley’s psyche - something too big, too overwhelming, for Troi to define, like trying to name a tune being played at ear-splitting pitch. She pulled back from Wesley’s mind, steeled herself, and walked the few steps forward to storage room F-54. Gingerly, she pressed the panel to the side to open the doors. 

 

Troi’s chest rose in shock as the doors parted to reveal Wesley hunched almost double in the small cubby-hole, barely big enough for two people, with his fingers gripped tightly around his cock. Wesley jumped backwards, flailing and turning as he desperately attempted to conceal himself.

 

“Oh, God!” he cried out, his voice shot through with panic. “Deanna - Counsellor Troi, I-I’m so sorry…” He turned away and desperately tugged as his uniform to redress himself as Troi’s eyes turned instinctively to the floor in embarrassment. “I didn’t think-I didn’t know anyone would-oh, God, I’m so s-”

 

“It’s,” Troi interrupted him, “it’s okay.” She cleared her throat, still staring down at the floor. “I sensed you were in...emotional trouble, and I...I wanted to make sure you were...alright.”

 

Silence passed between them for a beat before Wesley’s faltering voice broke it. “I’m not,” he whimpered. “I’m not alright. I...can’t think straight,” he sighed, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders began to shake. “I’m just so...so like  _ this _ ,” he whispered, ashamed. “All the time.”

 

Troi’s heart broke as Wesley’s emotional state, so strong and all-consuming, overwhelmed her.  _ So much pain,  _ she thought as a tear rolled down her cheek.  _ So much need.  _

 

“It’s I who should be sorry, Wesley,” Troi replied, her voice cracking. “I should have noticed these patterns earlier. I knew you were suffering, but...not like this.”

 

“But I shouldn’t be!” Wesley retorted, his face a mess of guilty tears. “This isn’t how I’m supposed to behave, this isn’t...proper conduct…”

 

“It is  _ exactly  _ how a boy of your age should feel,” Troi retorted angrily, momentarily furious with the structures which had forced this regular teenage boy to repress his natural sexual desires for the needs of others. “You don’t need to apologise to me, Wesley, not now, and not ever.”

 

Wesley sniffled and stared at his shoes. “I just...I don’t know what to do anymore,” he moaned. “It seems like every waking moment all I can think about is...this,” he said, laughing mirthlessly as he tried to conceal his still-erect cock. “Six...seven, eight times a shift. It’s a wonder I get anything done,” he spat, turning his head into the wall. 

 

The pit of Troi’s stomach lurched as a solution presented itself to her before she had even considered it. Her heart fluttered and cheeks flushed. She tried to banish it, but it simply wouldn’t go away. She looked surreptitiously left and right before stepping inside the storage room. The doors hissed shut behind her and sealed the two of them in a cramped, soundproof cell.

 

Wesley stiffened and backed up against the wall. “W-w-w-what are you-”

 

“Wesley,” Troi whispered, her voice trembling with a very present fear. “I can help you. I want to help you.” 

 

Wesley shook his head slowly. “H-how-how can...can you…”

 

“You know how,” Troi replied, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “But...and I really must stress this, you can never... _ ever _ tell anyone. Do you understand me, Wesley?”

 

Wesley’s heart beat so hard and fast he feared it might explode. His mouth dry and knees weak, he nodded shakily.

 

“Let me see it,” Troi breathed, running her hands down the sides of Wesley’s slender body. Wesley’s trembling fingers grasped and fumbled at the fold in his uniform before finally unveiling a long yet slim cock, throbbingly erect. Troi licked her lips reflexively, clenching her thighs as her cunt unwillingly ached in response. Locking eyes with Wesley, she dropped to her knees, holding his gaze all the way down. Wesley gasped and shuddered as she blew a thin stream of air over his purple, swollen head before wrapping her lips around it, groaning instantly against his flesh.

 

“Oh...fuck!” Wesley gasped, breathing hard and fast as Troi slid down his length, her hot tongue pressed firmly against his twitching cock. She wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and slid back up, running his head along her lips as she locked eyes with him again, planting tiny kisses over his shaft. 

 

“A boy on Betazed,” Troi muttered as she ran her palm up and down Wesley’s cock, “isn’t considered a man until he spills his first seed,” she continued, lapping at his frenulum, “into the mouth of a woman. Do you want to be a man, Wesley?” She whispered, swallowing his length once again and sending Wesley almost collapsing to the floor as his knees began to buckle.

 

“Oh, God, yes,” he moaned, breathing so hard he feared he might hyperventilate. Sweat poured from his brow, slicking his hair to his forehead. “Yes, Counsellor Troi, I want to be a man.”

 

She shushed him gently. “Deanna,” she whispered as she stroked him slowly. “No need for formalities here.” She lifted his shaft and ran her tongue along and around his balls, almost smooth but for a light dusting of fresh hair. “You’re a big boy now, Wesley,” she groaned, wrapping her lips around one testicle and sucking it softly. “A big boy with big, beautiful balls that are going to spunk all over me. Aren’t you?”

 

It was all Wesley could do to nod weakly. The sensation was overwhelming; it felt as though he would soon lose consciousness. With a burst of resolve, he roused himself and found strength in his legs once more, pushing himself back to a standing position as Troi continued to lick his balls and suck his cock. 

 

Troi groaned against Wesley’s shaft, her cunt twitching with want, as she felt him wrap his fingers through her hair and begin to control the speed at which she sucked him. “That’s it,” she said throatily as she pulled mouth off of his cock. “You’re in control.” She whimpered in pleasure as a second hand grabbed the other side of her head and Wesley began to move his hips back and forth, fucking her mouth. His head rammed into her throat, Troi began to choke and gag, controlling her breathing as Wesley got faster and faster, more and more unhinged. 

 

“Yes, Wesley,” Deanna groaned as she pulled away from his cock, wrapping her hand around it and stroking him hard and fast. “Use me. Fuck my face.” A look of sadistic glee flickered across Wesley’s face as he grabbed Troi’s head once more and thrust his cock deep into her mouth, making her gag instantly. He ignored her cries and chokes and thrust deeper and harder, digging his fingers through her hair, pulling it out of its intricate pattern and sending it cascading down her back and over her breasts.

 

“Oh f-fuck,” Wesley whispered, his hands beginning to tremble as his orgasm approached. “Deanna, I’m going to-”

 

“No,” Troi gasped, pulling her head away from his cock. “Not like that. That’s not how it’s done.” Desperately pulling the last strands of hair still clinging to its old shape out of formation, Troi tugged the shoulders of her uniform down, pulled her arms out of the sleeves and peeled it off down to her waist, leaving her topless at Wesley’s feet with long, dark, curly hair drifting down her body. She clutched her breasts and pushed them up, as if in offering, and tilted her head back. “You do the last bit. You finish it. Come in my mouth,” she sighed in want, closing her eyes and opening her mouth wide, tongue stuck out in expectation. 

 

Within seconds, Wesley began to groan, moan and shudder, cursing and swearing before a tidal wave of come shot across Troi’s face from chin to hairline, getting only a fraction of it in her mouth. The second shot was more accurate, with the full spurt gliding over Troi’s tongue and into her waiting mouth. A third and final spurt, the biggest of the lot, half-filled Troi’s mouth before petering out down her chin and onto her breasts. Troi opened her eyes slowly to see Wesley looking down at her with a mix of horror and amazement. His spunk was hot and salty in her mouth. Holding his gaze, she licked the come from her lips and gulped it down, thick and claggy. She gently ran a finger along the trail of come across her face and licked it clean, rubbing what remained on her breasts into her flesh until it formed an invisible sheen. 

 

“By Betazoid terms,” Troi whispered, a playful smile at her lips, “you’re now a man. How does it feel?”

 

“What did we just do?” Wesley whispered back, horror-struck. “What did I...what did you…”

 

Troi shushed him, reaching up to stroke his clammy face. “I did what I ought to. I gave you what you needed.” She got to her feet, slipping her arms back into the sleeves of her uniform and concealing her breasts once more before putting her hair into a simple ponytail.

 

“But... _ that? _ ” Wesley blurted, still not sure whether what he had just experienced was a dream or not. “Why?” Troi regarded him with pitying eyes and ran her fingers through his sodden hair.

 

“Because you’re my patient. And I’m your friend. And I have a duty of care to you as both.” Wesley gulped hard and nodded, though the dull glint in his eye betrayed the fact that he felt no better.

 

“What do we do now?” He asked, almost embarrassed. Troi shrugged.

 

“We...go back to work, I suppose. I trust you’ve...got it out of your system?” She asked with a cheeky smile. Wesley laughed nervously. 

 

“Yeah, I...I think so.” Silence fell once more, this time more sad than awkward. “Is this,” Wesley began before cutting himself off. He frowned and began again. “Are we gonna do this...again? ‘Cause...I’d like to,” he chuckled.

Troi regarded him with a stern look which stiffened him straight. She couldn’t keep her composure in the face of his worry, however, and smiled gently, closing the distance between the two them and taking Wesley’s hand in her own. Wesley shuddered and groaned silently as she pressed it to her crotch; the fabric of her uniform was sodden, positively dripping. She licked her lips and whispered into his ear:

 

“What do you think?”


End file.
